


Sweater Weather

by billyteddytrash



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cold Weather, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, First Kiss, Fluff, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billyteddytrash/pseuds/billyteddytrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John works late, and Sherlock gets cold. One comes home to a dark flat and the other borrows some clothes. </p>
<p>[Fluffy Johnlock One-Shot]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at Johnlock fluff, so please be gentle. I had a cute dream and was inspired to write this! Named after both the NBHD song and that lovely kind of cuddle weather.

John opened the door to 221B and was greeted with an empty room. 

His eyebrows scrunched up on his forehead in confusion. Sherlock had been texting him less than five minutes ago complaining about a draft in the sitting room, asking John when he'd be home to turn the heating on. And yet, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. 

Instead of being mauled by the whiny consulting detective as he'd become used to, he was alone in an empty flat. 

It was quite late, he thought to himself, perhaps he's actually gone to bed. 

That thought quickly dissipated as he neared the steps and saw a glaring light coming from down the hall. 

John couldn't help but notice that it was coming from the direction of his own bedroom. 

There was a faint, rhythmic whirring coming from the room, growing louder as he slowly made his way through. He crept quietly down the hall, careful not to make too much noise as he went to see what was going on. 

Upon reaching the doorway, John noticed a lump of blankets in the centre of the mattress, his duvet among them. He noticed a long, pale foot peeking out from beneath the nest of warmth, leaning towards what appeared to be his old space heater that he had purchased in college. 

"Sherlock?", John asked quietly. 

A murmur came from the cozy-looking mountain, and it wobbled a little as the body underneath wiggled in response. After a moment, the top of Sherlock's head popped out. 

"John?"

His voice was rough with sleep, an the grogginess told John that he'd just woken him up. The younger man stared at him, blinking slowly as if he was just making sure that he was really there. 

Sherlock hummed lightly, and his hands emerged from beneath the comforters. He reached up and rubbed his tired eyes. Cream-coloured wool slipped down his wrist. John's breathe caught for a moment. 

Is that? 

No. 

"Sherlock," John asked, "are you wearing one of my jumpers?"

Sherlock's hand froze. His eyes widened a bit, and his mouth dropped open. He was speechless. Or embarrassed. Or both. 

Quickly regaining his confidence, he spoke clearly. 

"It was cold."

John laughed in disbelief. He knew for a fact Sherlock had sweaters of his own, perfectly warm ones. Which means that he had intentionally found one of John's for a reason. 

There aren't many reasons someone wears someone else's clothing. 

One: You'd forgotten your own. 

But Sherlock lived here, and had plenty of clothing. 

Two: The article of clothing suits your needs better. 

But Sherlock had better sweaters than John's worn white wool one. Dozens, actually. 

And then, of course, there's the third reason. 

Sherlock missed him. 

And hell, if that didn't make him grin like an idiot. 

Sherlock averted his eyes from John, clearly deducing that John had figured it out. There was a faint flush across his cheeks, the colour of strawberry ice cream. 

It was clear what had to be done. 

John clicked off the space heater at Sherlock's feet. 

"That thing is a total fire hazard, you know."

And then crawled onto the bed. 

"What're you doing, John?"

"I'm joining you. It is rather nippy."

He kicked off his shoes and climbed under the stack of duvets, careful not to fall off the bed or knock the blankets over. Once underneath, he collapsed on his side with his arm draped over Sherlock. The consulting detective lay rigid at first, careful not to move or breathe too drastically for fear John would leave. After a while, he relaxed and even turned over to stare at his friend. 

His eyes were glued to the doctor's face, deducing and concluding. John was half asleep, eyes closed, drifting off. 

Once Sherlock was sure he was unconscious, he leaned in and pressed a carefully calculated kiss to the corner of Watson's mouth. 

"I'd missed you, John."

"I know." 

Sherlock felt a mouth on his own then, startled at the sudden affection. But in the instant it was there, it was gone. The doctor was asleep again. All there was to remind him it had happened was John's hand gripping tightly to the front if his own sweater. 

Sherlock still wasn't sure why he decided to sleep in John's room or wear his sweater, but he did know that it likely wouldn't be the last time.


End file.
